


Pilfering a Pretty Pink Princess

by PsychoYuffie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/F, Romance, Teen Angst, Teen Romance, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-27
Updated: 2013-03-27
Packaged: 2017-12-06 17:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/738148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsychoYuffie/pseuds/PsychoYuffie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily is your ordinary rebellious youth. Her time is consumed with video games and she never thought about boys. Not until Evan. Evan already has a girlfriend, though: Lyssa. A tale of personal discovery and how love may appear in places you're not expecting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pilfering a Pretty Pink Princess

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that I wrote for my fiction class midterm. I really loved how it turned out, so I thought I would share it. It is meant to be a one-shot, but I may return to it someday because I think there is still a lot of opportunity for story.

She stood there in a little pink dress that I would probably never be caught in. In that mall corridor, resonating with the clicks of heels and the murmuring of conversation, I just happened to notice her as I walked out of the Game Stop. The smell of cinnamon buns from the food court wafted through the air to accent her sugary presence. Between us, people rushed past in a hurry, but they faded away—or perhaps I did. For a moment, I was entranced and I wasn't sure why.

She was everything I wasn't: fair-haired, blue-eyed, glamorous, and ultra femme. I was simply Emily. Everything about me was average: brown hair, brown eyes, not too thin or fat, normal height. I never bothered to pay attention to my makeup. I was much more interested in beating _Halo 4_ on Legendary or lording over Tamriel with an iron fist in _Skyrim_.

Then he swooped out from the sporting goods store—which I had never seen before—and wrapped his big arms around her small frame. Unlike her, he was large and beefy. His raven hair was swept back, but not in a greasy way. He wasn't square-jawed, like most of the jocks I saw. His blue eyes sparkled under the fluorescent lights. Now, I had never been interested in boys, but there was just something about him. It was wonderful and terrible at the same time. Something had changed inside of me. There was a little monster thrashing inside the pit of my stomach. How can I explain it? I must have fallen for this guy, but then was immediately crushed when this precious princess had already taken him. That has to be it!

I looked down and realized the plastic of my game box was whining, threatening to crack in my tiny but powerful hands. I turned and walked away.

* * *

It wouldn't be until another month, when I started my junior year, that I would discover who this prince and princess were: Lyssa and Evan. I would never call myself a social butterfly, so I had never heard of them before, but the rest of the school had, apparently. Including my source for almost everything I don't care about: Dylan, which I got this information from. No, I don't care about learning how to do my taxes, what were the best universities, or who was important in our school or anywhere else: why should I care?

"Stop it," Dylan said, pushing up his square glasses up his nose with his middle finger. He always did this, made me think he was trying to flip me the bird.

"Why should I—what?" I said, snapping out of my day dream.

I had been staring across the cafeteria at Lyssa and Evan at the "cool" table, which was identical to all the other lime green bench tables in the room. Including the one I was sitting at right now. The late morning, almost noon, light exploded through the giant window that spanned the entire room and length of the west wall, overlooking the wondrous view of the parking lot.

I swallowed hard, realizing there was food in my mouth. What was this? I looked down and found a plate of mashed potatoes, splattered with watery gravy and cubed chunks of "turkey." It was everyone's favorite, but I just thought it tasted liked mashed Styrofoam topped with watery rubber. Looking at this mess made me inhale unexpectedly and I sucked a bit of turkey into the back of my throat. I began coughing.

"You okay?" Dylan asked, his mouth cracked with a smirk.

I nodded, but continued to cough, drawing some attention. Lyssa was looking over right at me. Oh, god. I was sure my face was red, but I couldn't tell if it was from the coughing fit or embarrassment. Finally, the cough relented. I took a moment to recollect myself, my vision blurred by tears. I awkwardly wiped them away with the long sleeve of my shirt.

"You okay?" Dylan asked again, this time eyeing me with some concern.

I waved my hand at him. "I said I'm fine," I said, my voice raw and hoarse. It seriously hurt to talk.

Dylan looked around to verify that everyone was going back to their own business, they were. Crossing his arms out in front of him, he lean forward with this, resting them on the table. "This needs to stop."

"I'm sorry," I said, "you know I'm an awkward eater and-or drinker."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Dylan said.

I gave him a look with the tilt of my head. "And what might that be?" I shoveled more styropotatoes into my mouth, hoping he would take the hint and just shut up, which I already knew was unlikely.

"You know what it means," he said, shifting in his seat.

Jabbing in his direction with my fork, styropotatoes flying everywhere, I said, "Look, it's none of your business. I like who I like."

He sighed and pulled out his glasses-cleaning towelette from his pocket and slid off his glasses to clean the styropotatoes off of them. "Nice."

I didn't say anything, I just continued to dig into my meal, hoping it would be over soon so I could be through with this awkward conversation. At the last minute, I said, "Sorry."

Looking satisfied, he snapped his glasses back on and slid the towelette back into his pocket in an oddly fluid motion for him. Looking suddenly startled, he put his hand down on the table. "Wait! I'm trying to say something important here!"

Disappointment ached in my chest. "Why can't you just drop it?"

"Because! Look at you."

"Hey!" I said, dropping my fork on the nearly empty plate. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"These potatoes perfectly represent how you've been since you've come back to school," Dylan said, trying to avoid putting his arm in any of the styropotatoes splattered on the tabletop. "You're scattered, distracted… Obsessed."

I chuckled. "Obsessed? Really?"

"What's so special about him?" Dyaln said, his nostrils flaring with anger.

Stunned, I stood up and snatched up my backpack. "Whoa, whoa!" I pointed toward the hall. "I think I should go and get a head start to class." I started walking away.

"Emily," he said.

I turned back, but he was just clutching his head. Confusion stung my mind, like prickles on the back of my skull. What was going on? I knew I wasn't going to get any straight answers from Dylan, so I kept walking.

* * *

After school, I was walking home. It was in the back-end of town, where very few people were during the day. Most of these people were hardcore blue collar workers, who had to either work two jobs or high-paying night jobs just to stay afloat. Naturally, that meant that during the day they were either working or sleeping. To most people, the quiet of nearly entire neighborhood would seem unsettling, but I thought it was peaceful and meditative. As I walked, I took a long drag from my cigarette and blew it out into the crisp autumn air. I could feel the nicotine beginning to work, giving my arms and legs light tingles in their muscles. I stopped and closed my eyes for a moment. I opened my eyes to find myself looking up toward the white, overcast sky. I could see the leaves were turning yellow, orange, and red, making them look like fire in front of a blank canvas.

"Stupid thing!" I heard someone yell from down the block.

Slowly, I looked down the street to see the princess of all people struggling with her bike, shaking it and giving it a stern glare—as if it would be fixed through will power. Her bike matched her personality, of course. The frame was pink and the curved bar faded from pink to white. I took the last drag from my cigarette and flicked it onto the sidewalk before walking forward toward Lyssa. She must have heard my footsteps because she turned to look at me as I blew out smoke as I made my way over to her.

"You shouldn't smoke," she said.

Ignoring her comment, I asked, "Why are you on this side of town? I thought you lived by the golf course."

"I do, but I wanted to go see Evan. He lives around here." Lyssa said in a drawl tone, almost as if she didn't like the idea.

Shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket, feeling the little monster in my gut burning with rage, I said, "Well, he does. It's a few blocks past my house."

I felt awkwardness clawing at my chest and I could tell I was sweating a bit. I wasn't sure why because I wasn't hot. None of this made any sense.

I lifted my foot to start walking again, when she asked, "Do you know anything about bikes?"

My foot reconnected with the ground and I closed my eyes for a moment before turning to the bike and looking at it. The problem was pretty obvious. I gave her a look, wondering how she couldn't see it. Pointing at the chain belt, which was loose at the base of the pulley, I said, "Well, your bike stopped working because the chain came off." Lyssa nodded, but her face showed that she was still at a loss in fixing the problem. I rubbed my eye and heaved an exhale through my mouth before I squatted before the bike and made the necessary fix.

"Wow! You make it look so easy." Lyssa said, flashing her dazzling smile that left me holding my breath.

Remembering to breathe, I just shrugged as I wiped my greasy hands on my pants and said, "Well, it really isn't that hard."

She got on the bike and tested it by doing a few doughnuts. She stopped and looked satisfied. My chest tightened and then released. This was too weird.

Pointing down the road, I said, "I can walk you until my place."

Lyssa smiled again. "I would like that."

We walked the remaining three blocks to my house. It was a two-story townhouse with rough, brown siding. It was surrounded in a waist-high chain-link fence. There was a driveway and a tiny garage that was mainly just crammed full of junk. The lawn was beginning to yellow, but there wasn't a single leaf to be found, despite the yard having two trees.

"This is me," I said, lightly kicking up my right leg.

She looked at the house and then back at me. "Are you doing anything right now?"

My brows furrowed in confusion. "No… Why?"

She gave a light shrug with just her shoulders and smiled up at me. "Maybe wondering if you wanted to hang out for a while?"

"I thought you said you were meeting up with Evan," I said, my words stumbling a bit at the end.

"I could…not go," Lyssa said.

So we transcended the yard, opened the front door—which was almost always unlocked—and I slammed it behind me, which started Lyssa and me. I laughed it off. The house was old, built in the 1940s. It was my grandparents' last home before my parents had inherited it. It had a lot of wood with dark finish, hardwood floors, and cracked flower-themed linoleum in the kitchen. There wasn't any carpet in the house. The walls were all textured plaster, no atrocious wood paneling or gaudy wallpaper.

"Sometimes the air slams it closed," I lied.

Lyssa looked around the small entryway before asking, "Where is everyone?"

"Well, my dad works at the Kraft factory until five. It's a Friday, so he'll probably be going out with his friends after. And my mom works as a nurse at the clinic until eight. It's just me until then. So, yeah." I said, tossing my schoolbag to the floor.

Lyssa followed my lead, but she carefully set hers by the door and took off her coat and neatly put it on the coat hanger. "No one at home after you get home? That must be hard."

"Just used to it," I said and then pointed up. "My room is upstairs."

As I awkwardly shuffled up the stairs, some of the steps creaking like a wood version of arthritis. Hearing the light taps of Lyssa's feet behind me, I couldn't help but wonder how this could have even happened. Lyssa was my sworn enemy: the girlfriend of the boy I liked! So why was I so nervous? So excited? There were so many things about this situation that I just didn't understand and there wasn't any time to think.

My room was a mess. There were dirty clothes, books, and video game cases laying everywhere. Upon seeing this, I sheepishly grinned at Lyssa and hurried to clear some space for her to walk. She stepped carefully through the clutter as I hastily cleaned and took a seat on my bed. My bed was actually made today: it had a dark quilt on top. A gift from my grandma when I was still a kid. Satisfied, I took a seat next to Lyssa, staring at my TV and entertainment center to the side of the door leading to the hall. There was a glare on the screen from the window behind us. In the corner between my entertainment center and closet was an old fishing rod. The fishing rod that I used to use when I went on trips with my grandpa. I haven't been fishing since he passed away.

Suddenly, I turned to Lyssa and asked, "So why didn't you want to go see Evan?"

She sighed and stayed quiet for a moment. "Honestly, I'm only with him because of my dad."

"Your dad? He's the English teacher at school, right?" I asked.

Nodding, she said, "Yeah, he knows Evan's dad and they kinda arranged this thing. We go along with it. Evan is a nice guy, but he has like no spine."

"What do you mean?" I asked, scooting a little closer.

"He hates me," she said, looking down at her feet. "I know he'd never tell me, but I can tell. Whenever we're together, he looks like he'd rather be somewhere else. He puts on the act when we're in public. Holding me, kissing me, and whatever, but he's super distant when we're alone."

Was this really the true face of Evan? A timid boy, too scared to stand up to his dad, even if it means being in a relationship he hates? This didn't fit the picture of him that I had in my head at all. He was supposed to be kind, charming, engaging… Why am I believing Lyssa, though? This is only one side of the story, right?

Lyssa's hand went over mine, her soft skin settling like silk against mine. Suddenly, she was looking at me and I was very aware of where we were: alone, in my bedroom. I looked back at Lyssa, her eyes had changed. She was no longer the princess I had thought she was. Suddenly, I was aware of the hunger in her eyes. The same hunger that I felt in my heart was reflected back at me. I was aware. I was. I was in trouble.

Without thinking, without realizing what was going on, my body moved on its own. It seemed to know better than me what I wanted. My hand slid behind Lyssa's tender neck and I took her lips. My heart exploded into thunderous waves of blood, crashing through the tempest of my mind. She responded in turn, kissing me. I was brought back to that moment, when it was just the two of us in that mall corridor. With cinnamon buns sweetly drifting in the breeze. That sugary aroma. That sweet taste of my pretty pink princess.


End file.
